


Breathless

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Asphyxiation, Choking, Death Threats, M/M, Masochism, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-04-08 07:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19102573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Izaya should never have let Shizuo get this close." Shizuo gets his hands on Izaya and Izaya surrenders more than his distance to the other's grip.





	Breathless

He should never have let Shizuo get this close.

Izaya can see that now, with all the clarity that comes with facing the immediate consequences of a very recent mistake. He has been testing the other’s limits, skirting the edge of the danger that comes with each of the explosions of temper that cause such destruction to everyone and everything around the other man; a misstep was inevitable, however many near-misses Izaya has laughed his way through before. The only way to attain perfect security is to avoid the other entirely; and with his desires categorically opposed to such a step, all Izaya can do is accept the results of his mistakes alongside the benefit gained by his successes and be grateful to have the chance to face another day, however bruised and battered the sunrise may find him.

That’s likely to be worse than usual, Izaya considers as Shizuo’s hand seizes at the front of his shirt to drag him stumbling forward off the balance of his feet. He’s been needling Shizuo all day, mocking him in the hallways at school and flirting with the grinding edge of the other’s temper as Shizuo’s patience was steadily frayed as much by Izaya’s own actions as by the regular irritations that must come with high school. By the time Shizuo stepped out of the school gates his shoulders were hunched to a warning, his handsome features set into a scowl that would be enough to warn another of the hair-trigger his temper was riding on. Izaya had considered the cloud on the other’s face, gazed for a long moment at the strain of barely-held-back strength under the blue of the other’s uniform jacket; and then he had stepped forward to trip that delicate trigger by throwing himself bodily upon it. That was an hour ago, with the sun still well above the city skyline to illuminate the path of their chase through the streets; now the sky is tinged to crimsons and gold overhead, flaring with a beauty Izaya is too occupied to notice.

“ _You_ ,” Shizuo growls in the back of his throat, hissing the word past his clenched teeth as he drags Izaya in towards him. He’s tense with anger, rage flexing in his body and glittering behind his eyes; Izaya doesn’t think he’s even aware of what he’s saying, doesn’t think there can be anything of rationality still controlling the power in the hand clenching to a fist at his shirt. Any patience Shizuo might have had is utterly spent, leaving nothing to hold back the temper that draws Izaya in, a moth seeking out the flame of its certain destruction; Izaya imagines he can feel the heat of that open fire licking against his skin even now, as he bares his teeth into a grin that is the only answer he can possibly give to Shizuo’s vicious rage.

“Me?” He pulls the word high, making a mockery of the assumed innocence it carries as he opens his eyes wide to blink confusion up at Shizuo. “What do you think I did, Shizu-chan?”

“I don’t know,” Shizuo says without any hesitation. “I know you did _something_. I ran into two different color gangs on my way home yesterday, you can’t tell me that wasn’t your doing.”

“You don’t have any proof,” Izaya purrs. “You’re just acting based on groundless suspicion. Besides, it sounds like you got lucky anyway.” He ducks his chin down to cast his gaze up through the shadow of his lashes at Shizuo, a match for a curve of amusement he lets slide over his lips. “Since I sent at least three in your direction.”

Shizuo growls wordless rage and swings in for a blow, his arm curving to an arc towards Izaya’s face. Izaya ducks low, letting his feet drop from under him to give the whole of his weight to Shizuo’s keeping; the movement pulls his shirt up high across his chest, held in place by Shizuo’s continued fist on the fabric, but it lets Izaya move out of the way of the blow and saves his face from the damage that would be done by taking that fist against his jaw. For a moment he wonders if he can wiggle free of his shirt entirely, duck out of the collar and dart away to leave Shizuo holding his uniform shirt while Izaya is free to make his escape, but his jacket holds his arms in place, and in the delay that results his opportunity for retreat disintegrates. A hand grabs against his neck, fingers tightening to a vice around his throat, and Izaya gasps with desperate instinct to fill his lungs as Shizuo’s hold pulls him up to eye-level with the furious shadow of the other’s dark eyes.

“Fuck you,” Shizuo hisses, growling the words past the set of his teeth as he scowls into Izaya’s face. He’s far closer than is reasonable, near enough to be in some danger of a headbutt, if Izaya were free to move; but his skull is likely as monstrously strong as the rest of him, and Izaya has no leeway to move in any case. His feet are an inch off the ground, no matter how he strains to get what support his toes may offer against the pavement, and with Shizuo’s fingers tight around his neck every struggling movement he makes just adds to the pressure wheezing against his breathing. He makes an attempt at a kick, aware even as he does so that he lacks the power to do any real harm, but Shizuo doesn’t even look down at Izaya’s shoe hitting his thigh, doesn’t glance away from the rage-taut focus he’s turning on the other’s face. “What do you _want_ from me, why are you always trying to start a fight? I just want _peace_ , Izaya-kun.”

Izaya gives up on his futile attempts at landing a kick that will do nothing to his captor. He drags a breath past the grip of Shizuo’s fingers on his neck, straining air into his lungs before he forces a smirk onto his face. “No peace for monsters, Shizu-chan.”

Izaya can see Shizuo’s expression harden, can see the hurt in the other’s eyes tighten to unseeing shadow. Shizuo’s jaw clenches, bracing his teeth together with what must be strength enough to shatter bone, and around Izaya’s neck his fingers flex, closing tight to sever whatever dregs of breath Izaya was able to claim before. Izaya’s chest works involuntarily, his throat flexing with the effort to find air, to gust an exhale and drag fresh oxygen into his lungs, but there is nothing, no motion he can win against the steel of Shizuo’s hand banded around his neck. He reaches for the other’s fingers, instinct seeking traction to loosen that hold, to gain some fragment of breath for himself, but Shizuo doesn’t react to the scrape of Izaya’s nails against his wrist any more than he did to the bruising force of the other’s kick. He just holds him steady, toes an inch off the ground and throat locked close by the grip of Shizuo’s hand at his neck. Izaya feels himself shudder with adrenaline, his body trembling with the deprivation of a basic need; his face is hot, his cheeks burning with the flush of blood that can’t work itself past Shizuo’s grip. His hands are going weak, his fingers clutching at Shizuo’s wrist instead of pulling at his hold, and still Shizuo is watching him, the judgment in his dark eyes unwavering as he stares at Izaya like he’s the only thing in the whole of the world. Izaya’s chest strains, his heart racing with panic and adrenaline and heat in equal measures at the simple fact of his own helplessness, of his utter inability to overcome the casual strength of Shizuo’s one-handed grip holding the whole of his weight off the ground, and when the fire in his blood rises hot to eclipse his fear he can offer nothing but surrender to it. His body trembles, his fingers seize hard around Shizuo’s wrist as his lips part on a moan that spends itself unheard, and when the rush of orgasmic heat surges over the haze of his thoughts Izaya’s vision is swept aside along with his thought.

The impact with the pavement jolts him back to himself with bruising force. Izaya’s eyes open wide, his lungs flex on reflexive response to the blow, and when stale air runs up against the barrier at his throat it meets no resistance but the bruise-swollen fingerprints Shizuo’s grip laid there. Izaya coughs at once, his chest spasming with a desire to breathe so desperate it can’t manage to achieve its aim, and for a moment his attention is absent for wholly different reasons, as he turns sideways to gasp and wheeze himself back into some kind of ordinary rhythm for his breathing. He’s still coughing when Shizuo speaks, the voice coming from so high above him it might as well be spilling from the sunset bleeding over the sky.

“Leave me alone, Izaya-kun.” There’s danger on that tone, a warning rattling at the back of the other’s throat. Izaya keeps his head down, keeps his face turned into the shadow of his hair so Shizuo won’t see the look on his face, won’t see the darker flush that heats his cheeks at the clear threat on Shizuo’s tone. “Or I really will kill you, someday.” It doesn’t sound like a threat to Izaya’s ringing ears; it’s a promise, maybe, or just a statement of fact, as cool and resigned as a declaration that the sun will rise in the morning. Izaya doesn’t lift his head and doesn’t take the risk of forcing words past his swollen throat, and after a moment Shizuo takes a step back and turns to stride away down the alley. Izaya counts a handful of steps before he lifts his chin to watch the other vanish around the corner to the main street, shoulders hunched hard under his blue coat and hands stuffed deep into his pockets as if to hide the heat of Izaya’s skin still clinging to his fingertips.

Izaya breathes out slowly, emptying his lungs entirely before drawing another inhale to fill them as deep as they will go, savoring the simple pleasure of air to breathe while his body trembles with the aftershocks of Shizuo’s touch. By the time he manages to speak Shizuo is well past the point of hearing, even if Izaya could manage greater volume than the ragged whisper he achieves. “Looking forward to it, Shizu-chan.” He lies still for another minute, letting the last shudders of heat ebb from his body; and then he angles an elbow under himself, and pushes to upright so he can begin the walk home through the shadows of the spreading night.


End file.
